


Quantum Leap

by MiladyMorningstar (PrincessPestilence)



Series: The Ol' Switcheroo [1]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fisting, Double Penetration, M/M, Multi, Multiverse, POV First Person, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn IS the plot, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 00:35:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29126583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrincessPestilence/pseuds/MiladyMorningstar
Summary: When his beloved tells him of a long-held wish, Wade Wilson will stop at nothing to make that wish come true.orSpidey gets dp-ed by DP.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Wade Wilson, Wade Wilson/Peter Parker/Wade Wilson
Series: The Ol' Switcheroo [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2137206
Comments: 18
Kudos: 133





	Quantum Leap

**Author's Note:**

> This has been on the agenda for about 3 years. I have a whole series of PWP in the queue. So, you have that to look forward to. This was surprisingly fun to write.
> 
> You can picture any Spidey you want, he's 21. I have kind of an amalgamation in my head

Peter Parker is pretty much the best thing that ever happened to me. 

[Which isn’t saying much, you’ve seen the movies.]

Not only because he’s Spider-Man, my favourite little vigilante, 

{He’s a do-gooder, but not the boring, overwhelmingly righteous type whose perfection is just a metaphor for American propaganda. Lookin’ at you Cap. And don’t even get me started on fuckin’ Superman.}

or because Peter Parker, the civilian, was an endearing little nerd who eats as much as I do and actually _enjoys_ spending time with my ugly ass.

[{Literally.}]

But also - seriously, shut the fuck up I’m trying to narrate - also because since we started going steady, I’ve had better sex than I’ve had in my whole life. And Ness was a sex worker. But Vanessa wasn’t a horny 21-year-old boy with superhuman stamina. Which just so happened to match perfectly with my healing factor’s absolute lack of a refractory period. Did you know men could have marathon sex and multiple orgasms? Cuz we do. 

And when Peter’s in the mood, things can get a little wild. The dude is insatiable. It would almost be an insult to my masculinity how sometimes I’m just not enough to satisfy my little spiderling. Almost. Never let it be said I don’t give maximum effort in all areas of my life.

{ _He said the thing!_ }

So with a little creativity and several hundred dollars worth of “investments” (Never let Pete know how much money I spent on our toy collection), we’ve pretty much-gotten things down to an art. 

{*Chefs kiss*}

Case in point:

“C’mon, c’mon, I can take more! Please, Wade, I need it!” Peter panted out desperately, words muffled against the sheets as he wiggled his ass, trying to fuck himself back onto my fingers. 

“Ahm givin her all she’s got, Cap’n!” I said in my best approximation of a Scottish accent as I worked my fourth finger into Peter’s tight, wet ass, mesmerised by the delicious stretch as he took everything I gave him. 

Peter let out a high keen as my hand sank in past the knuckles to the first web space between my thumb and forefinger, half of my hand submerged in his smooth, molten heat. 

“Holy shit,” I breathe rapturously my dick standing hard between my legs, leaking copiously against my stomach. Peter doesn’t get as wet as I do, being a nice, circumcised, Jewish boy, but boy does he make up for it in sheer enthusiasm. If that means he needs a little extra lube from time to time, I’m not gonna complain. There’s a towel laid down over the comforter just in case. 

[That’s a protip for all you boys and girls out there reading this.]

{Don’t forget to pee when you’re finished!}

“Stop fucking talking about urinary tract infections when I’m trying to fist my boyfriend,” I mutter angrily, shaking my head to clear it. 

“Stick your fucking fist in me then, or I really will get a urinary tract infection,” Peter demands in frustration. 

I smile indulgently, licking my lips a little as I rub my thumb along Peter’s tight rim, fingers curling inside him to massage his prostate, making him gasp and shudder. “That doesn’t make any sense, baby boy,” I say as I squirt another generous dollop of lube down Peter’s ass crack, getting my thumb nice and slick, spreading the viscous fluid around his tender hole. 

“I’ll make you make sense,” Peter bites out as I pull out just enough to work the tip of my thumb in the space between the bundle of my fingers. Slowly, hand slicked up to the wrist, I work it into my boyfriend’s greedy, gaping ass. He takes it with a low, drawn-out groan and my dick pulses against my stomach, another thick drop of precome smearing my belly. 

Peter can’t stop making desperate, tortured little noises as I move my hand slowly inside him, careful not to hurt him. 

[Pete’s healing factor is nothing to sneeze at, though.]

{Yeah, bet it’d take more than a little anal fisting to wreck our boy!}

“Not taking that risk. This fic isn’t about stretching Peter past his limits.”

“Yes, it is,” Pete pants, voice rough, body rocking backwards as though unable to stop himself. 

“Oh, yeah…” 

[Check the tags, moron.]

{Does sex give Spider-Man 4th-wall breaking abilities?}

“Maybe I can share my powers with skin-to-skin contact. Or maybe it’s some kind of STI.”

“Wade, baby, I love you, but if you don’t stop talking to yourself and start fucking me properly, I’m gonna web you up and do it myself,” Peter growls, reaching back to squeeze my thigh hard enough to leave bruises to last for weeks if my skin actually bruised. 

“I never stopped, honeybunch,” I say, which is true. My hand continues its slow, inexorable drive, filling him up. “But, uh, since it _is_ in the tags, whaddya say we see how much dat ass can really take?”

“Hmm?” Jeeze, he’s shaking like a goddamn leaf. I run my hand up the smooth, pale expanse of his back, careful not to pay too close of attention to how if I stretch my fingers I can nearly span the width of his tiny waist. Too many hours have been lost to that already, and Peter really won’t tolerate me getting off track at this point. 

Carefully, I extricate my hand from its hot, tight prison. 

“No!” Peter whines, twisting his whole body in a way only a supernaturally flexible gymnast possibly could in order to reach out desperately for me. I will never get tired of how earnestly he wants me. I could spend the rest of actual eternity worshipping at the alter that is Peter Parker, and yet somehow he seems to want me just as much. 

“Shhh,” I soothe him, wiping my lube-coated hand on the towel. “I’ll take care of you, don’t worry.” I lean forward, using my clean hand to push his damp, chestnut hair up off his sweaty forehead, pressing a kiss to the flushed skin there. “I gotcha baby boy,” I say, manhandling him back into position. 

Peter buries his face with a disconsolate sob, knees slipping further apart like presenting for me will get me back inside him faster.

He’s right, of course.

Quick as I can, I scurry off the bed, digging our toybox out of the closet. Rustling through the wide array of marital aids, I pull out an old favourite. It’s a pink jelly vibrator. Not the biggest we’ve got, but definitely nothing to sniff at, either. Remind me later to buy a strap-on. 

Thus armed, I vault back onto the bed, bouncing Peter who yelps as he loses his footing. Knee-ing? What’s the equivalent of footing when you’re on all fours? Peter’s splayed out on his belly. He glares at me as he clambers back up onto his knees, holding himself up with his hands. 

“Nooo,” I scold lightly, pushing between his shoulder blades until he drops back down, huffing a little as he rests his cheek on his folded arms, perfect, perky ass in the air. He loses a bit of tension when I slip a couple fingers back into his greedy hole. I unerringly find his prostate, and Peter sighs happily as I massage it gently, using my other hand to slick myself up. 

Almost quick enough for my demanding lover, I replace my fingers with my cock and Peter moans loudly with satisfaction. Pete’s so stretched and wet that I sink into him with barely any resistance. I start up a slow, steady rhythm, then, before Peter can start to complain,

[Arguably, one of his primary superpowers.]

{“Arguably.” Get it? Cuz he likes to complain?}

I slip a finger in alongside my cock. 

“Oh, fuck…” Peter breathes as he catches my drift. 

“Yeah? You want more?”

“Uh-huh!” Peter nods his head, fisting his hands in the blanket. 

I push a second finger alongside the first. It’s such a weird sensation. I’ve never done this before, and it’s weird but the thought is so fucking hot that I’ve gotta squeeze the base of my cock to stop myself from blowing my load too early. 

“Ooohh, yeah,” Peter moans at the extra stimulation.

“You like that?” I ask and Peter just nods frantically into the mattress. “Yeah? You think you could take more?”

“Yes!” I watch as his ribcage expands and contracts with his deep breathing. “I can take it! I can take more, please, Wade! Please, I need it!”

“Think you could take a whole other dick in this tight ass?” I can feel Peter clench around me as he wraps his poor sex-addled mind around that concept, and I muffle a groan, my hips stuttering, but I push valiantly onward. 

“Another…?” He asks, his voice cracking, but it’s anticipation in his voice, not hesitation. 

“I got Ol’ Reliable right here, baby. You wanna see if you can take us both?” I hold my breath as I wait for his answer, because consent is sexy, kids. 

“Do it,” Peter demands, his voice dropping an octave, slipping into his Superhero Voice™ with the force of his determination. 

“Aye-aye, mon Capitaine!” Stilling my hips, I slide my fingers back out, using them to drizzle copious amounts of Destiel-approved Astroglide onto my PVC counterpart. “Remember, you can never have enough lube. Even if you’re fucking Mister Fantastic or the mom from the Incredibles.”

{Elastigirl, you uncultured swine!}

“Elastigirl, right. Hey Pete, wanna watch The Incredibles after this?” I ask as I position Ol’ Reliable at Peter’s entrance. I pull out until just my head is inside him, then slowly push until the bulbous tip of the jelly dick breaches Peter’s rim. 

Peter lets out a long, tortured cry as I thrust back in. Drawing out, I push the vibrator in its place, moaning at the sensation of the slick dick sliding against my own. Peter’s a never-ending fountain of noise as I keep up the slow, alternating thrusts. 

With delicate care, I up the pace. I pull the PVC out as I slide into Peter’s unbearable heat, then push it to the hilt as I withdraw. Dildo fully seated, I twist the knob and both of us let out identically startled moans when the vibration starts. Peter’s nearly screaming in overstimulated ecstasy and I can’t help but start fucking into him faster, my rhythm getting a little outta whack when I don’t manage to quite pull the dildo out completely before I thrust back in. 

“Oh, fuck, oh, fuck, ohfuck, fuck, fuck!” Peter screams and I grunt in accompaniment. 

“You like that?” I ask as if I can’t tell.

“I love it,” Pete says breathlessly. “I love you. I wish there were two of you inside me right now. I wish it was you. Fuck! Wade, please! I can’t…!”

{Now there’s an idea.}

[Let’s put a pin in that for later.]

“You can,” I assure, though I’m not really paying attention to what he’s saying. “You can take it, baby. Can you come like this? I can’t last much longer.” Technically, I can keep going pretty much indefinitely, but that’s not the game we’re playing right now. 

“Yes!” Peter says, reaching a hand down underneath him, but I catch it before it can reach its prize. 

“Think you can come untouched?” He can, I’ve seen it.

“Wade!” he wails, white-knuckling the comforter. “Wade, Wade, Wade,” he chants and fuck I’m definitely not gonna last. 

With what rapidly dwindling brainpower I still possess, I turn the knob on the vibrator to its highest setting and that seems to do the trick. 

Peter absolutely _screams_ as he comes and I’m right there behind him. I know we’re gonna have a noise complaint. Possibly a welfare check. 

I rip the vibrator out before the overstimulation starts getting painful, letting it buzz away on the towel as I slide out a little more delicately. Peter is a boneless puddle of live nerves, shuddering through the aftershocks as I lay down beside him. I carefully don’t touch him, aware of how sensitive he is right now. I can wait until he comes back down to Earth. 

It’s several long minutes before I visibly see Peter’s brain reboot itself. He turns his face towards me, blinking sleepily as he reaches a hand out towards mine. I immediately take it, pulling it to my lips to press a kiss to his long, spidery fingers. 

“How you feelin’?” I ask softly and Peter blinks slowly in a way I’ve come to realise he thinks is a smile. I smile back and kiss his sweaty cheek. “C’mon, let’s get you cleaned up and we’ll go watch The Incredibles. Sound good?”

Peter hums in affirmation as I take him into my arms, using the towel to clean the both of us up as much as we can without getting in the shower. We’ll deal with that later. I leave him sitting on the bed as I throw on my discarded sweats and Pan Pride hoodie before bundling him up in the comforter we bought from Wal-Mart and carrying him out to the sofa. 

I let Peter pull up the movie and go pour him a glass of OJ, popping a few bags of popcorn for us to share. By the time I return to the living room, Pete’s got the movie loaded and paused, and he’s regained enough power to smile at me with his actual mouth. I snuggle in close, stealing a corner of his massive cocoon to throw over my own legs and settle in for a cinematic adventure, arm wrapped around my little bundle of love. 

*

“You thought I forgot, didn’t you? Well, I didn’t. Now, granted, it did take me a while to figure out what I was going to _do_ with the idea, but where there’s a will, there’s a way, and if my little lamb chop wants to be dp-ed by DP’s then that’s what DP’ll do.”

[Jesus Christ.]

“Specifically, it took a little over five weeks to track down and steal a working multiverse-transporter, but this is Marvel, those things are a dime a dozen. Phase Two was finding an AU that would fit our needs. I’m not about to take Petie-Pie to the Zombie Apocalypse verse or the Killer-But-Not-In-The-Sexy-Way!Deadpool universe. This isn’t that kind of fanfic. We don’t need that kind of drama in our lives. This is the SpideyPool-Has-A-Threesome!fic, and I needed to find a universe that fit that particular criterion.”

{Would you believe how many universes he’s married in? Who knew Scrotum-Face was such a hot commodity?}

“So now we’re on to Phase Three: Get Spidey To Go Along With It. Which brings us to right now.” 

Exposition out of the way, I stop loitering in the hallway outside my apartment and actually unlock my front door. 

“Lucy! I’m home!” I say in my best Cuban accent as if a 21-year-old has ever actually seen I Love Lucy. 

“Hm,” Peter acknowledges from the vicinity of the sofa. 

Disarming at the dining table, I frown at the lack of enthusiasm. Making my way over to the living room, I see Peter on the floor, hunched over the coffee table writing frantically on a tablet, textbooks strewed around everywhere. I honestly didn’t even know he owned that many textbooks. Still, I know better than to try to interrupt while Peter’s working, and it looks like he’s made some kind of breakthrough on his thesis so I leave him to it.

Instead, I take a quick shower just to wash the sweat off because _Jesus_ that suit is not breathable, and I really need to take Pete up on his offer to build me a better one. I redress in my comfy fleece onesie that looks like Spider-Man’s suit because it was either that or the unicorn one and this one annoyed Peter the most. Only he can judge me. 

Avoiding the whole area between the couch and the coffee table for fear of disrupting whatever it is Pete’s got going on down there, I step over the arm and just sit criss-cross applesauce behind him. If Peter wanted to (or noticed) he could lean his head back and be directly in my lap. For now, though, I let him work, turning on Fate: The Winx Saga on mute, content to read the subtitles. It’s ok, Peter’s not watching this series with me. He’s not gonna miss anything. 

I make it through two and three-quarters episodes before Peter’s stylus clatters against the table and the man breathes out a heavy, cleansing breath. I look down at the back of his head, hair clearly not having seen a brush that day, or possibly ever, and watch him finally take note of his surroundings. His face raises to face the television and his head tilts like a curious bird or possibly a confused angel as he takes in the fact that it is on and a programme is playing. I can picture the bemusement on his face clearly, and sure enough, there it is when he twists around and stares up at me as if surprised to find me sitting here.

“Hey, Pookie. You make good progress?” I ask, but Peter ignores me entirely.

“When did you get home?” he demands, quickly shutting all the books and stacking them haphazardly on the coffee table before standing and depositing himself in my lap exactly as I had intended. 

“Well,” I say, taking his slim hips in my hands, positioning him just the right way, “I got home about three hours ago and you ‘hm’-ed at me, so I decided to just leave you to it.”

“I ‘hm’-ed at you?” he asks, genuinely surprised that he doesn’t remember like it’s an unusual occurrence. 

“Ya-huh. It’s cool. You were busy. I knew the score. I’ve been watching the new Winx Club on Netflix.” Peter scrunches his nose up adorably in disgust. 

“You have no taste.”

“You have no culture,” I return before finally leaning in for my welcome-home kiss. I’m content to make out for a while but when Pete start’s getting squirmy, it’s left to me to put a stop to it. “Wait, I actually have something I wanted to talk to you about.”

Peter blinks owlishly at me, pouting. “What do you need to talk to me about?”

“So, remember when- actually wait, have you eaten anything today? What am I saying, of course, you haven’t. Get up, I’m gonna make a casserole.” Pete obligingly allows me up, following me into the galley kitchen.

“What kind of casserole?” 

“Not Mexican, that’s for goddamn sure,” I assure vehemently. “Not that I don’t love me some Mexican food - I would and have killed for a good tamale - but the writers have made the mistake of mentioning a foodstuff in the canon and now that’s a whole-ass personality trait. I _do_ eat other shit, you know. Chinese. Thai. Indian. Poutine, the national dish of Canada.”

“Are we having poutine?” Peter pipes in, and of course he doesn’t know about the curse of Fandom.

{Unless we’re having sex.}

[At least nobody’s ever seen you eat an apple.]

“That theory was never conclusively proven and I don’t think it would even matter at this point when someone somewhere has already drawn me fucking a chimichanga.”

“Someone drew you fucking a chimichanga?”

I shrug, “Probably. One of you should Google it for me.”

“So wait,” Peter shakes his head, unable to follow only one side of a four-way conversation, “are you making Poutine? ‘Cause I think we’re out of cheese curds.”

“No, I already told you, I’m making casserole.” I’ve amassed a pile of miscellaneous vegetables and cream soups on the counter, along with half a bag of frozen tater tots and a three-pound log of hamburger that I toss in the microwave to defrost. I turn back around to face my boyfriend as the microwave whirrs behind me, leaning against the countertop. “So anyway, back to what I was saying before. Do you remember what you said to me that night when I fisted you?”

Peter blinks and sags against the wall. “Wade, I never know what comes out of my mouth when we have sex. Also, that was over a month ago. No, I have no idea what I said that night.”

“Well allow me to enlighten you. As I was in the middle of tag-teaming you with our vibrator you said, and I quote: ‘I wish there were two of you inside me right now’, end quote.”

“Uh-huh,” Peter nods, agreeing that that does sound like something he would say in that scenario. 

“Soooo…” I wave my arms around a little for lack of anything else to do with them, “what say we make that happen?”

Peter stares at me until the microwave beeps. I ignore it until it beeps again 30 seconds later to remind me. I take the meat out of the microwave and dump it in a skillet before turning back to Peter who has not stopped staring at me and it’s getting a little creepy. 

“Well?” I finally break.

“What, exactly, are you proposing?” Peter finally responds arms crossed over his chest. “Are you telling me you’ve cloned yourself? Is that what you’ve been doing this whole time?”

I wave the idea away, “No no no no no! It’s much more convoluted than that. Cloning never even crossed my mind.”

“So, what then?”

“Okay, picture this: we’re in an alternate universe-”

“No.”

“I haven’t even gotten to the plan yet!” I protest as Peter turns around and leaves the kitchen. 

“If your plan is ‘traverse the multiverse in search of another Deadpool who will agree to a threesome with us’, the answer is no,” Peter says, collapsing back onto the couch. 

“Ok, first of all, we won’t be ‘traversing the multiverse’ because I already know where we’re going!”

Peter turns to glare at him over the back of the couch. “How are we gonna get there?” he demands and I shrug. If I don’t confess to the crime, I can’t be punished for it.

“It’s taken care of.”

“Did you steal something?”

My silence is damning but I stick to my fifth amendment rights. I’ve read the American Constitution. 

“Is S.H.I.E.L.D. gonna break down our door again?”

“No.” Probably.

“So, what are we gonna do, just show up at his house. You have it all set up?”

I grin winningly at him. “That’s where you come in!”

“No.”

“I scoped the place out, and I’m like, 90% sure he’ll be DTF.”

“So you haven’t talked to him yet?”

“No, I didn’t want to get his hopes up if you nixed the plan.”

“Okay, well, this is me, nixing the plan.”

I fall to my knees in front of him, taking his hands in my own. “Look. Mira, mi amor. Just think about it. We don’t have to make any decisions right now. I just wanted to let you know that it was an option. It’s a perfectly safe universe almost exactly like ours, with a perfectly normal Deadpool almost exactly like me which you seem to be into, who will almost definitely want to tap dat ass. And then he and I can proceed to make your dreams come true: you in the middle of a Deadpool sandwich. The cream-filled cream filling of a Deadpool oreo. The-”

“If I promise to think about it will you stop talking and go actually cook dinner?”

“That is all I ask,” I say, standing and bending to give a kiss to the top of my love’s head. 

True to my word, I don’t bring it up again for the rest of the night. Instead, we split a whole casserole between the two of us and finish season one of Carnival Row. 

*

Three weeks later, Peter pulls his mouth off my dick and says “Okay, fine, I’ll do it.”

*

Which brings us right back to the beginning with my fingers knuckle deep in Peter Parker’s precious posterior.

“You should just fuck me open,” Peter pants, preoccupied with pleasure.

[Fucking stop.]

“You never let me have any fun.”

“I’m just saying it would be easier to fuck me and then plug me up, rather than just fingering me open.”

I blink up at the boy bemusedly.

[What did I just fucking say?]

“I can’t fuck you in preparation for a threesome, that’s hella rude. Like ‘Oh, hello, we saw you and I was just wondering if you’d be interested in my sloppy seconds?’ Besides, not to be modest or anything, but my dick alone ain’t gonna get you ready for a fist-sized butt plug. This is gonna take a while no matter what we do. This is not to be rushed,” I explain patiently, taking my time with the prep. 

“You love sloppy seconds!” Pete argues, which is true. 

“That’s beside the point.”

“No, it’s not! The whole point is that it’s _you_! We’re having a threesome with you, and you love sloppy seconds so there’s no reason not to just fuck me already!” he yells, rocking back onto my fingers for all he’s worth.

“You make a good point,” I admit, “but I know you well enough by now to know when you’re trying to manipulate me and I refuse to give in. You’ll come when we’ve got you sandwiched between us and not a minute before.” I am firm on this point.

{ ;) }

Peter lets his head drop onto his folded arms and groans in frustration as I deftly avoid his prostate, finally adding my fourth finger.

Okay, that one was unintentional.

[Motherfu-]

*

An hour later found us a universe away outside a rundown apartment building in the Bronx. We avoid the fire escape, and Peter piggy-backs me up the side of the building as I direct him to a window on the 4th floor. Peter’s shaking, not with the added weight which is nothing to him, but with the giant silicon fist in his ass under the spidey suit. The only reason we don’t plummet to the piss-soaked asphalt is because of Spidey’s extra sticky fingers. A lesser man might be afraid.

{This is why we don’t mix business with pleasure, kids.}

[Don’t try this at home.]

Having spent a full week doing recon on this ugly bastard, I’m familiar enough with his schedule to know that he ought to be getting ready for a night out patrolling with his favourite masked vigilante. Unless he left early or is planning to meet up with Spider-Man from some undisclosed third location. Okay, a week isn’t actually enough time to have his routine down pat, but in my defence, I was mostly just looking for whether he was 1) single, 2) into Spider-Man, and 3) unlikely to blast a hole in my beloved’s face before we got our explanation out. And from what I saw, he did seem to have a pre-patrol routine that had him in the apartment getting ready around this time. 

“You’re sure he’s going to be here?” Pete asks as we stop beside the window. 

“Honey, I was literally just explaining that in the narration. Pay better attention.”

I can physically feel Peter roll his eyes. “Sorry, I don’t get access to your internal dialogue.”

“Well as I was _saying_... Probably.”

“Oh, my G-d.”

I reach out over his shoulder and knock on the window.

There’s a moment of stillness and then an exact copy of me bursts into the bedroom, naked but for a greyish towel that might once have been white, liberally bloodstained and tucked around his waist, a Deadpool mask pulled crookedly over his face and a Glock. 

Thankfully Spider-Man’s is the first face he sees outside his window, and that’s at least enough to get him to lower the gun from where it was poised to shoot straight through the double panes. Peter and I both let out a breath of relief. 

Deadpool(II) visibly startles and regroups before crossing the small bedroom and opening the window.

“ _Spidey_?” he asks, incredulously. “How the fuck do you know where I live?”

“Hi, Deadpool, I’m from another universe,” Peter blurts out with absolutely no build-up, and we both see the other man tense. “Don’t shoot! I’m here with Wade - the Deadpool from my universe - we just need your help with something real quick.”

[“Help”]

I move slightly to the side so I’m more visible, waving over Peter’s shoulder. The blank white eyes of Deadpool’s mask bore into my own. It’s like looking into a mirror in a horror film: I move but my reflection doesn’t.

“Okay, I admit, I’m curious,” Deadpool says eventually, backing up and beckoning us inside the room. It smells like unwashed laundry and mildew. I wonder when the sheets on that mattress on the floor were last changed. Hm. Should have brought him to our place instead. “So, what universe are you guys from? 616? 1610? MCU?”

“Uhh, according to the URL, 29126583,” I answer as I climb awkwardly off of Peter’s back. 

“Oh, so not even remotely canon then,” Deadpool nods, pulling a fluffy pink camo robe off the hook on the back of the door and shrugging into it. “So what do you guys need me for? Aliens? Hydra? The Hand? Venom? What kind of crisis sends someone to an alternate universe for extra help?”

“We were actually wondering if you’d be interested in a threesome,” Peter says bluntly.

Deadpool stares at him in unsettling silence before turning to me. 

I shrug.

“What.”

“So look, the thing is,” I rush to explain, “Spidey here-”

“This was not my idea,” Pete protests, perching on a white fiberboard Tyssedal from IKEA. 

“Spidey expressed an interest in taking two of us at once, and after some careful consideration, I thought you might be up for the challenge.

“You and Spidey…” Deadpool trailed off, completely off-topic as if I didn’t just offer up all his wildest dreams on a silver platter.

“Are dating,” Peter supplied. “We live together. Apparently, I said something once when we were having sex a few months ago, and Wade here took it to heart so here we are.”

“You say that like you aren’t absolutely gagging for it,” I accuse and Peter just shrugs.

“I’m just saying, I had very little to do with this whole plan. I didn’t say I didn’t want to _do_ it.”

“Wait, wait, wait, wait. Wait.” Deadpool waves his hands to stop our bickering. “You two seriously came here to have a threesome? That’s the ‘help’ you needed?”

“Well, if you aren’t interested,” Peter starts and Deadpool cuts him off.

“I never said that. I just want to clarify.”

I huff, crossing my arms over my chest. “Yes. We came here for sex. You have a thing for Spider-Man. I happen to have a Spider-Man available. We were wondering if you’d be interested in fucking him.”

Peter grumbles something about not being a blow-up doll, but we ignore him.

“And you’d, what?” Deadpool asks me, “Be sitting in the corner jerking off?”

“I’d be in there with you.”

Deadpool jerks a little in surprise. “You’d be-”

“Fucking him at the same time,” I confirm.

“Are you in?” Peter asks and when I glance at him I can see him squirming from where he’s perched on the dresser and suddenly I remember that he’s still got the silicon fist inside him. When I look closely at him, I can see the rapidness of his breath and the subtle trembling of his body. I know the only reason he’s not tenting his suit is because it’s fitted with a cup. “Do you want me?” he presses, knowing my weaknesses well enough to exploit them in this other Deadpool, and sure enough, the man crumbles. 

“God, yes,” he breathes, body tense as he holds himself back from throwing himself at my boyfriend. 

Peter has no such self-control, however, and with superhuman speed is in Deadpool’s space with his mask pushed up over his nose, pulling the taller man down with one hand and pushing his mask up with the other. It’s only courtesy that prevents him from unmasking the mercenary completely as he sticks his tongue down Deadpool’s throat. Pete’s good like that. Never one to push boundaries.

Deadpool has no defence against Spider-Man and helplessly sags into the kiss, hands coming around to grip Peter’s waist, one hand drifting back to take a blessed handful of ass. 

I thought I would be more possessive, honestly. That the reality of seeing my boyfriend kiss someone who wasn’t _me_ me would be uncomfortable, but all I really feel is proud and turned on. It’s incredibly hot getting an objective view of Peter’s desperation, and I’m content to stand back and let him run the show from this point on. In the end, that’s what this whole venture was all about. 

Peter has the belt of Deadpool’s robe untied in a matter of seconds and wastes no time pushing the pink fleece off his shoulders where it falls unheeded to the floor, along with the dingy, forgotten towel. Peter moans at the show of skin and tries to scramble at the fastening of his own suit. Helpfully, I step in and unzip him, peeling the red and blue spandex off, leaving Peter in only the mask. Peter kicks out of the suit and drives Deadpool back until he trips on the mattress and falls hard, bringing Peter down with him. 

“Holy shit,” Deadpool breathes, sprawled on the bed with a naked Spider-Man in his lap. 

“Uh-huh,” Peter pants, pushing the mercenary up the bed until he’s laying on it properly, perching himself in his lap. From my vantage point behind them, I can see Deadpool’s scarred cock grazing the crack of Peter’s ass. I hear his gasp when he must have encountered the plug, and he reaches a hand back to feel the edges of it with thick fingers, causing Peter to whimper when it jostles the toy inside him.

Pushing up my mask but remaining otherwise fully dressed, I kneel on the mattress behind Peter, bracketed on either side by my own legs. My gloved fingers meet Deadpool’s where they’re still exploring the plug, but I give it a much more deliberate jostle. Peter keens as I twist the toy inside him

“Wade, please,” he begs, and I press a kiss to his bare shoulder, pushing him forward. He goes easily, falling into Deadpool’s arms again, this time allowing the other man to control the kiss. Deadpool greedily explores Peter’s bare skin, soaking in the feel of him as I slowly work the plug out. 

Peter cries out disconsolately once he’s empty, ass gaping beautifully, clenching around nothing and aching to be filled again. I set the plug carelessly on the rumpled blanket. 

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Deadpool yells at seeing the toy unsheathed. “You had that fucking thing inside you this whole time?”

“Preparation is key,” I remind him, pulling Peter back upright, turning his head to take his mouth. It’s weird, but I can taste Deadpool’s toothpaste. Aquafresh, unlike Peter’s preferred Colgate. I rub the pretty, pink pebbles of Peter’s nipples with my gloved hands, a sensation I know he can’t get enough of.

When I finally separate from Peter’s mouth, Deadpool is still preoccupied with the plug. Well, I can fix that.

He yelps when I grab his dick and it doesn’t feel weird. It’s my dick, too, after all, but Deadpool is still startled and he starts to speak, but Peter has already lifted himself up and seated himself fully before the Merc With The Mouth can get a word out. Instead, they both moan loudly. 

Peter is loose but he’s still hot and wet inside and I can see him clenching around the length inside him. He immediately starts bouncing on Deadpool’s cock and the other man can only scramble to get his feet under him in order to thrust back up into him. With one hand on Peter’s waist, helping to guide them into a smoother rhythm, and one hand reaching around to tug on Peter’s hard, flushed dick, it doesn’t take long before Peter’s on the edge, having been waiting so patiently for hours now. 

When Peter starts to tense up, I squeeze around the base of his cock, staving off the orgasm I can see coming and Peter sobs. “No! No, please, Wade, I need it! Let me come! Please! Please!” he begs so prettily and I kiss the tear that spills out over his flushed cheek. 

“What did I say, baby?” I remind him. He only sobs again in response. 

Deadpool has stopped moving, staring up at us silently, panting, hands petting Peter’s soft thighs. 

I push him down again, and Peter whines into Deadpool’s mouth, the other gripping him tight by the back of the neck. I glance down and let out a low groan of my own at the sight of the cock stretching Peter’s pink rim. Quickly, I unfasten my pants, pulling a packet of lube out and opening it up with my teeth to drizzle over my dick. Slicking myself up, I press the blunt tip against Peter’s hole, right where it’s stretching around the other dick inside him.

“Ohfuck,” Deadpool gasps and Peter is silent, mouth opened in a silent, overwhelmed scream, back bowing as I press into him. 

Gently, I start to thrust and both me and I hiss in unison as our dicks slide together within the sheath of Peter’s ass. It’s so much different than the vibrator, hot and pulsing and alive. Deadpool bucks up involuntarily and I thrust back and together we fuck the man between us. 

Peter buries his face in Deadpool’s neck, letting out a constant litany of tiny punched-out noises like he can’t gather enough breath to utter anything louder. Deadpool keeps one hand on the back of Peter’s neck and one hand squeezing the fleshy curve of his ass, my hands braced on Peter’s narrow hips.

“I’m gonna come,” Peter warns breathlessly, breath hitching, the noises coming louder and higher pitched. In an instant, I lean over Peter’s back, pressing myself all along his body, completely sandwiching him and as I feel him contracting around me I slide my leather-clad hand over Peter’s wide mouth, fucking into him faster, harder.

Instantly, Peter tenses and screams, loud and long and piercing, only just muffled by my hand. His back arches and I can see the come spurting between his stomach and Deadpool’s, the force of it catching Deadpool in the chin as he stares rapturously up at the demigod convulsing on top of him. 

I don’t let up, and soon enough Deadpool remembers himself enough to start thrusting up wildly, carelessly. Peter has stopped coming, but he’s still loud and shaking as we use him. I know that by this point he has to be over sensitised and the friction must be bordering on painful, but Peter takes it without complaint. I can imagine the glassy-eyed look on his face beneath the mask. 

Deadpool comes first, spilling inside Peter, making the slide that much wetter. Peter was right when he said I liked sloppy seconds. I love it when Peter is already full of come when I slide into him for the second or third time in a night. I love it now, with the novel sensation of another pulsing cock against my own as I slip and slide inside him, quelching obscenely with each frantic thrust. It’s only moments before I’m following him over, blowing my own load deep in Peter’s hot channel. I don’t stop though, slowly fucking him through my orgasm until there’s nothing left.

Peter is limp atop Deadpool and I might think that he was actually unconscious but for his breathing. I press a kiss to his sweaty back.

We all lay there piled on one another for a moment before Deadpool wheezes beneath the combined weight of us, and my back reminds me that I ought to pull out soon. I do, carefully, and Deadpool slips out along with me, already softening. There’s a flood of come leaking from Peter’s fucked-out hole and I scoop it up and push it back inside.

Peter makes a barely audible whine at the sensation. I’m not the only one who likes it sloppy. 

Tucking myself back into my pants, I help him gingerly roll off the other man. Peter is beyond even aftershocks at this point. Utterly insensate. 

“Hey, you doin’ okay, baby?” I ask gently, cupping his cheek in my hand. Peter lets out a tiny sound of acknowledgement and I press a soft kiss to his slack lips. 

“All right, well, we’d stay for the afterparty, but I think my baby boy here’s pretty out of it. Go on and kiss him goodbye and I’ll take him home,” I say to the other Deadpool who stares silently at us for a moment before reaching up and pulling his mask all the way off.

Somehow it’s startling to see my own face staring back at me. 

With infinite tenderness, Deadpool sits up and leans over Peter, running a finger down one sweaty cheek before kissing him equally softly. It’s not chaste, but it’s not heated. It’s deep but slow. Reverent. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever get to have this again.

I know the feeling. Sometimes I can’t believe I _do_ get to have this. 

Peter only just purses his lips in return, unable to kiss back with any precision, but Deadpool doesn’t seem to care. 

“Okay,” he says quietly as he pulls away, running his hand soothingly down Peter’s ribs. “Take care of him,” he looks to me, pleading and in love and my heart breaks, just a little. 

“I always do,” I respond seriously. 

I leave them for a moment to gather Peter’s suit before I bend down to gather the man himself into my arms. “You ready to go home?” I ask, and he nods sleepily against my collar bone. 

Careful of my precious bundle, I awkwardly recalibrate the transporter attached to my wrist. 

“Bye, Wade,” Peter murmurs against the leather of my suit. “Love you.”

*

In an instant, the two men shimmer out of existence and Wade is left alone in his dingy bedroom. 

“I love you, too,” Wade says to the empty air, voice catching. 

He lays in the bed for a long time, until the warmth of the other body seeps away with the draft from the open window. He can still smell the sex in his room, but the scent of Spidey is gone. 

Feeling existentially changed, he leaves the room and climbs back into the shower he’d just gotten out of when the two multiverse travellers had arrived. He’s reluctant to wash the sweat and come from his body, the remnants and proof of what happened, but on the other hand, he has another Spider-Man to meet and he wants to be clean when he puts his suit on. 

It’s about 1:30 in the morning when Wade finally comes across Spidey.

“So, just out of curiosity,” he says as Spider-Man lands in front of him, arms crossed, unimpressed by Wade’s lateness, “how would you feel if I told you I just had sex with an alternate version of you?”

“What?!” Spidey shrieks.

“‘Cause, hypothetically, I might have just had a threesome with me and you from an alternate universe, and I’m pretty sure it was you you because I recognised the voice. I still haven’t seen your face, but I know what your nipples look like.” And how he feels around his cock, but he wasn’t gonna say that to Spidey’s face. 

“...You’re gonna have to back up,” Spidey says eventually, and Wade nods. He’d needed a minute to adjust, himself. 

“So, I’m standing naked in my bathroom brushing my teeth when I hear a knock at my window…”


End file.
